Cuppa
by TheFredtoherGeorge
Summary: An evening chat between Rose and her Dad shows her that they have more in common than she'd ever realized. Written for "HighandLonesomeSound's Song and Prompt Challenge of Awesomeness" in the Teacher's Lounge. Song was "I Knew Prufrock Before He Got Famous" by Frank Turner and prompt was quidditch.


"Cuppa, Rosie?"

Rose looked up from the book she'd been staring at. Her Dad stood over her holding two cups of steaming tea, silhouetted by the setting sun through the window behind him. She shrugged and put her book down on the table, shuffling over to make room for him to sit next to her on the sofa.

"So what's bothering my little Rosebud this evening?" Ron asked, handing her one of the mugs. Rose scowled. She could tolerate being called Rosie. Most people called her that whether she liked it or not. Only her Dad still referred to her as his little Rosebud, but she felt that at twelve years old, she had outgrown such babyish nicknames.

"Nothing's bothering me," she lied. "Why do you ask?"

"Because you've been staring at that book for nearly twenty minutes without turning any pages," Ron observed with a smirk. "Your mother will insist that I never notice anything, but even I can tell that you're upset about something. So what is it?"

"Bloody Lily," Rose grumbled.

Ron chuckled. "What's little Lilykins done that has your wand in such a knot?"

"She's just so full of herself," Rose complained. "All afternoon at The Burrow, she kept whinging about being too young for Hogwarts and having to wait another year before being able to play for a house team. She's convinced that she'll make the team as a first year just like Uncle Harry did and go on to play professionally like her mum."

"Let me ask you something, Rosie," Ron sighed. He started at his daughter a moment, seemingly lost in thought. "Is it the whinging that bothers you, or the fact that she's probably right?" Rose looked up at him with a startled expression. He raised his eyebrows and she looked pensive, chewing her lip as she thought the matter over.

"Both," she admitted.

"You never told your mum and I that you tried out last year," Ron said softly. "It must have been hard when Al made the team and you didn't."

"I'm clumsy," Rose replied with feigned indifference. "I kept dropping the quaffle. I wouldn't have picked me either. No one wants a rubbish flyer on their team."

"You're not rubbish," Ron argued. "You're a very good flyer. In time, with practice, you could be a very good quidditch player as well. The problem is, being very good isn't very much fun when you're always surrounded by people who are bloody brilliant."

Rose looked at her Dad again, an expression of awe and something else crossing her features. The breeze carried the smells of the late summer evening into the house, ruffling Rose's hair as Ron sat in silence and sipped his tea.

"I was the youngest and least impressive of my brothers," Ron spoke again after several minutes. "My best friends were the smartest witch in our year and Harry bloody Potter. As if that wasn't bad enough, my little sister turned out to be a quidditch genius." Ron chuckled. "I spent a lot of time being jealous and resentful when I was growing up. I wanted to be in the spotlight for a change, have a taste of the glory."

"You did though," Rose interrupted. "Mum told me you played quidditch with Uncle Harry for two years. You were keeper."

"I was," Ron agreed. "That's when I began to learn that being in the spotlight isn't all it's cracked up to be." He laughed at the memory. "I got so nervous with everyone watching me that I could hardly stay on my broom. It was terrible."

Rose clapped a hand over her mouth to prevent tea from spilling from her lips.

"I played alright some of the time," Ron continued. "There was one really brilliant game where I got carried off the field. The crowd was singing and I was the hero of Gryffindor tower for the night. I thought it was the best day ever."

'Wasn't it?" Rose asked, astonished.

"Far from it," Ron shook his head. "If I had to choose some big important event as my best day, I could say it was the day you were born, or the day I married your mother. But really, the best days are the ordinary ones."

Ron set his cup down on the table and pulled a photograph from his pocket. He handed it to Rose, who took it, her eyes widening in surprise and amusement when she saw the moving image on the rectangle of paper. It showed her with Al and Scorpius when they had been together at The Burrow a few weeks earlier. Al had been shoved into the pond and was trying to pull Rose and Scorpius in with him, both of whom were laughing hysterically while struggling to avoid the murky greenish water.

"You could play quidditch if you set your mind to it," Ron advised his daughter. "If you practice hard and often, you could be on that team in a few years. Or, you could decide to leave sport to your cousins and go be great at something else. You're every bit as smart as your mother, after all."

Rose rolled her eyes slightly and Ron chuckled.

"Whatever you do, though, that's what matters," he explained, pointing to the photograph. "Those are going to be the best days of your life. The times you spent with your best friends, when nothing special happened and you were just together, having a good time."

Rose beamed, her eyes moving from the photograph in her hands to one that hung on the wall. In the larger photo, her parents and Uncle Harry lounged beneath a large tree on the grounds at Hogwarts.

"So, this Scorpius kid," Ron asked suddenly. "He's really alright?"

"Of course, Dad," Rose replied with an air of impatience. "Al and I aren't going to hang around someone who acts like a git, are we?"

Ron looked down at the photograph that his daughter held. "No, I suppose you wouldn't." Rose moved to give the photo back to him, but he shook his head. "You keep it." She picked up the book from the table, tucked the picture gently between its pages, and threw her arms around her father's shoulders.

"Thanks, Dad," she muttered.

"Anything for you, Rosie."


End file.
